The sun slowly went down. London's streets were filled with cars, cabs, busses and pedestrians on their way home.

But the two figures on the roof of St. Bartholomew's Hospital little cared about that.
They didn't talk, they didn't look at each other and still enjoyed each other's presence.

Sherlock Holmes and James Moriarty were sitting on the edge of the roof and watched the sunset.
The Consulting Detective was smoking and the Consulting Criminal was typing on his phone.
Stayin Alive softly sounded and accompanied the noises of the metropole.

James looked up from his phone and broke the silence with this signature chant in his voice. "What if we just stayed dead? Nobody is missing us."
Sherlock looked at him.
He hesitated.
Briefly the image of John flickered in front of his eyes; everything they had experienced so far, passed him by in a matter of seconds.

Then he looked again into Jim's unfathomable brown eyes.
The eyes that had fascinated him for so long, because they always looked deeply dark, but could still reflect hundreds of emotions.

They looked dead.
As so often during their encounters.
But when he looked deeper, he saw a spark.
Deep inside James.
Something he had never seen there before.

Affection.

He hardly noticed how they got closer and closer until he suddenly felt the other's lips on his.

His decision was made.